Wednesday, December 31, 2014

A Brand New Address is the first book inKathleen Rowland's Intervenus series, aimed at the New Adult market.

The
cosmic impact of 2153 throws Earth into a second Ice Age and impacts planet orbits in the entire solar system. Water erupts on the moon-sized asteroids near Mars and Venus, morphing their atmospheres into habitable.
After Mars’ nuclear war, Venus is the next big hope.

Yardley is reserved, Marchand has communication issues,
and despite their initial mutual crush, it looks like they are never going to
work things out.

Taking place during 22nd
Century Earth’s second ice age, A BRAND NEW ADDRESS follows childhood friends Yardley Van Dyke and Marchand LaFond who trick and tease each other. Robin-hooding thief Marchand sails his
ice-boat across the frozen tundra to deliver fuel and food to the needy. Subsistence gardener Yardley gives away
home-cooked meals. Just when their
attraction sizzles, he enters a space race to Venus.

Yardley promised her dying
mother she’d care for the family by growing food in their greenhouse. Clashing with Dad’s fiancé puts her on the
outs at home. After winning a prize for
an intergalactic garden project, she wants to prove her prototype works on
Venus.

Groomed for the mission
and calling the shots, Marchand can’t let emotions to get in the way. Maneuvering through sun spikes and space junk
is dangerous enough. Evil competitor
Vito Savage plans to annihilate competing shuttles. Will Savage’s darkest sins
come to light? If Yardley goes, will she tolerate Marchand’s brazen
exterior? Will Venus be their brand new
address where life will find them?

Available in paperback or
eBook on Amazon, B&N, iTunes, Kobo, & Smashwords!

Kathleen writes romantic suspense, and her books run the gamut from sweet (INTERVENUS series) to
sensuous (WATERFRONT series).

She grew
up in Iowa where she caught lightning bugs, ran barefoot, and raced her
sailboat on

Lake Okoboji. Now she wears
flip-flops and sails a Harbor20 with her husband, Gerry, but wishes there were
lightning bugs in California.

Though she holds an MS in computer science, she dreams about her characters and, upon waking, she might put them on a different path. She picks colors to
represent characters--for instance
green for Yardley because she’s a gardener and nurturer; red for Marchand
because he’s a Robin Hooder and must fight to protect.

Kathleen is
proud of their five children who have flown the coop, giving her time to write. She believes that with hard work,
dreams do come true.

Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Weary of her vampire existence, Detective Pamela Manley
laser-focuses on her job as a police officer. Life is perfect until a certain
handsome lawyer crosses her in court. What he doesn't know is that she's
centuries older than he is, and she intends to control him.

Defense lawyer Stephen Armsbury is hot for the beautiful
cop. After an evening of food and intimate kisses, he plans to get her into his
bed ASAP. Furious when he discovers she's also
a vamp, not to mention older and more powerful, he must discover why she
shields her powers from him.

Hot-to-the-touch vampire elders and one lusty vamp rebel
meddle in their growing relationship. Will Pamela reconcile herself with her
undead status? Can Stephen win the love of his bewitching cop?

Can you guess what the answer to those questions is?

Excerpt

His sire was such a beautiful man,
and watching him in his sexual activities was always arousing. Damian slid an
arm around Stephen's waist, obviously turned on by what was happening around
them. He turned, thrust fierce fingers through Damian's raven hair, cupped his
head, and met his kiss with his own assault.

"I love watching Hugo,"
Damian admitted, releasing Stephen's lips.

Through lust-narrowed eyes, they
followed Hugo's actions. He'd shoved up the fringed skirt and put his mouth at
the apex of her thighs. The other female helped lower her to a chaise and
sucked at the flapper's nipples as eagerly as Hugo ate her nether lips.

Damian backed Stephen to a pillar,
knelt, and opened the fastenings of his breeches. Forgetting his sire, he
needed all his focus on his king. His face tautened with fervent excitement,
his knees stiffening to hold himself up.

His cock sprung free as if eager
for a masterful blow job. Which, if he recalled Damian's sexual abilities
correctly, it very definitely would be. Then he shuddered. Damian's mouth, hot
and wet, surrounded his shaft, one hand braced on his thigh and the other
cupping his balls. The king knew exactly how he liked it.

Stephen slid his fingers through
Damian's hair, clutched the strands, knowing by the rapid movements and loud
slurping that the sharp tugs aroused the king.

flexed and
thrust into Dame's mouth. He felt his anus release and contract wanting his
breeches ripped down and Hugo's cock, or any cock for that matter, rammed in
for a hard, furious, and thorough fucking. But all he could do now was pump
into Damian's face and enjoy. Damian, not neglecting anal play, slid his palm
around to stroke Stephen's ass and grind his fingers into the crack through the
satin breeches. His king did not forget the good parts.

Heat blasted through him, his
thighs quivered, ass clenched, and Damian completely swallowed his ejaculation,
the sensation of his throat massaging the tip of his cock unbelievably
pleasurable. Stephen closed his eyes, his head tipped back on the column, and
he released a long, low growl of pure satisfaction. Slowly, eyes still closed,
he regained his senses and listened to the music of the instruments on the dais
accompanying the music of the sexual energy in the ballroom. Even though he'd
just been the recipient of one of Dame's amazing hummers—Stephen loved that
word—the surrounding moans and shrieks aroused him again. Damian was good, but
Pamela Manley was his goal.

He cranked open his eyes when he
felt soft, female lips on his. Veronica. Hm.
She ate at his mouth, thrusting in her tongue like it was a little cock.
Watching Dame suck a man's cock got her horny, and she usually joined the
action.

D.M. Sheridan loves
all sorts of romance stories but specializes in writing erotic vampire romance.
Having always lived in the private world of her mind, she's never actually seen
a vampire, but fantasies dictate that they must exist.

Monday, December 29, 2014

Last
of a long line of agrarian witches, Selene Pertunda thinks she will never meet
the right man...until with the help of a little magic, she finds Beck McNeal.

Named for the Goddess of Desire,
can she dream of lasting happiness with only one man?

Selene Pertunda has no
trouble attracting a man. She just can’t seem to find the right one. From
abusive husband Robert to tattooed bad boy lover Kevin, Selene draws men to her
like bears to her honeypot. The problem is that none of them proves to be a
good fit.

Sure she will never
find a shared happiness, Selene has no way to suspect she’s drawn the attention
of a powerful goddess. So she scoffs at the idea that the handsome man who
begins to play a large part in her life could be her destiny. After
all, what could worldly, educated Beck McNeal want with a small-town girl like
Selene?

Selene and Beck try to
their best to resist the inexplicable mutual magnetism flaring between them.
But can two ordinary people avoid the decree of the Goddess of Desire?

Excerpt:

Powell County Library

Magickal! Mystical!
Metaphysical Fair

Selene rolled her eyes after scanning the posterboard sign
propped next to the door of the library’s meeting room. In this era of online
information, the local library must really be hurting for walk-in patrons if
they had to resort to this sort of entertainment. She herself had almost had to
be dragged here. The last thing she wanted right now was to have her palm or
her aura read. In fact she refused to even consider it. Deep inside, where the
truths she was afraid to examine resided, she knew all the indications for the
unhappy ending she predicted for herself could be revealed today if she let her
guard down.

Inside the meeting room, Selene
and her long-time friend Sarah stood in front of a plastic folding table draped
with a blue silk shawl and printed with silver stars and white crescent moons. Really, could it get any more phony?
Selene thought. But Sarah giggled and nudged Selene, wanting to continue. A
woman with shoulder length dark hair and piercing dark eyes watched them from
the other side of the table, her hands toying with an oversized deck of cards.

“You first,” Sarah said.

“I only came here today because you wanted to, Sarah,”
Selene answered. The woman seated behind the table continued to watch them
closely. Sarah’s fidgeting and giggling made Selene feel like a teenager,
definitely not a good thing in her estimation. “I worked late last night. I’m
tired. Let’s just get this over with so I can go home to bed.”

“Sit down,” the woman seated behind the table invited,
gesturing to the chairs placed in front of the table.

Selene glanced at the woman, certain she would see it was
Sarah being addressed. But instead the tarot card reader looked directly at
Selene. A shiver ran down Selene’s back at the woman’s unblinking dark-eyed
scrutiny.

Selene shook her head. “I don’t want my fortune told.”

“Maybe you should allow me to take just a peek at the cards
for you,” the woman insisted in a soft voice. “There might be interesting
things in store for you. Things that you’ve never dreamed possible.”

“Right. Like what? Tall, dark, and handsome?” It sounded to
Selene’s own ears like she was sneering at the woman’s talent, so she probably
was. No, she definitely was. But the woman didn’t seem to take offense. “You
never know,” the card reader answered softly.

Selene shrugged, turning her back
and walking away, beginning a slow circuit of the other offerings lining the
meeting room’s walls while she waited. Sarah took the proffered seat across
from the tarot card reader and immediately became engrossed in whatever the
woman proceeded to tell her.

Selene kept moving, afraid if she sat while she waited for
Sarah she would fall asleep. Reiki she
read on one card atop a blanket-draped bench. Life force healing through the laying on of hands.

Reflexology was
printed on another sign taped to the door of a smaller adjacent room. Reflexes in the hands and ears and
especially the feet correspond to every part, gland and organ of the body!

There were tables for Hypnosis.
ForCrystals and Meditation, and one for a devotee of
something called Spirit Guides. That
particular woman came prepared with large fold-out displays that explained how
to identify and understand the messages sent by spirit animals to humans.

Part of her bored, a small part fascinated, and a large part
amused, Selene wondered how these practitioners of alternative therapies
managed to survive in southwest Wyoming. They must constitute a veritable
underground belief system in a place populated by rough oilfield workers and
their giant pickup trucks.

Only one of the many exhibitions caused Selene to stop long
enough to actually read any of the literature scattered across the table top. Ghosts explained how the belief in
spirits was ancient. Practices of spiritualism and ritual magic
were not just intended to return restless spirits of the dead to their repose,
but for the living to interact with them.

The explanation caught her attention because it jibed with
her own beliefs. Animism one page of
a brochure read: the belief that spirits existed in all things, animate or
inanimate. The universe itself possessed a spirit, and the spirit of everything
combined was universal. Selene knew this to be correct because her nona had told her so.

Selene was the last of a long line of streghe or nature witches. With a history stretching back before
the time of the Etruscans, the old knowledge was now almost buried by the
avalanche of Christian doctrine blanketing thefertile valleys of the Dolomites.
By the time the belief filtered down through the years and distance from Europe
to reach Selene the flame burned so low it had almost guttered out.

But not quite. She still believed in the ancient agrarian
spirits, the gods and goddesses of Nature and fertility, agriculture and
fecundity. Even though she lived in the dry high desert and had for her whole
life. Even though her last true link with the old religion, her nona, had been
dead for twenty years.

And that’s why, when she completed the circuit of the room
and stood once more before the dark-haired psychic, almost against her will
Selene extended her hand to receive the business card the woman held out to her:

Tarot * ) Divination ( * Clairvoyant

* ) Spells ( *

* ) Spiritual Healing
( *

20 years’ experience

Madame Fortunata

“Call me,” Madame murmured, her finger tapping the card
where her phone number was printed. “Make an appointment. Please. I can help
you.”

In spite of the pull of modern rationality and the tendency
to disbelieve, the inner voice strongly urging her to run before she made a
choice whose consequences she couldn’t control, Selene stared helplessly into
the deep pools of the woman’s hypnotic eyes. “All right” she was aghast to hear
herself agreeing.

) * (

Getting It Rightis
the first novel-length work in the Wyoming Series of
contemporary romances by Christi Williams.

"To the One I
Never Forgot" is a short story that launched the Wyoming
Series. Gianna and Zack were too young for love when they were separated.
Now, all grown up, can Gianna be reunited with the one she never forgot?

Christi Williams is
also the author of two novels and a novella in the Hawk Point Romances series. Take
a Chance on Love is the story of the chance encounter of
widowChancie de Leur and hot Wyoming Highway Patrol trooper Micah Taylor. Perilous
Promises is Perris and Noah Dalton's story of recovery from breast
cancer and the effort to revive their formerly wonderful marriage. The
novella Clay's Quest is the tale of a hot Wyoming cop
who comes up with a wacky plan to save his marriage when he just won't accept
that his beautiful wife wants to find someone else to father her baby.

Christi writes sensual, entertaining
love stories of unforgettable modern Western men and women. Readers
say...Sensual: "Taken a touchy subject and made it heartfelt and humorous,
but she's made it H.O.T.!!" Humorous: "Cracked me up!" Love:
"To be loved like that!" Stories: "Character driven
fiction."

Sunday, December 28, 2014

This weekend's snippet is from Viking in Tartan, a short medieval romance. In this scene, Rhona, the laird's daughter, is taking in the room where she is about to be married:

She glanced around.
Their Great Hall wasna so great, but on this afternoon the servants had outdone
themselves. They’d cleared away the remains of the previous night’s revelry and
decorated every table, mantel and window ledge with fresh evergreen and holly
boughs. Their fragrance and bright berries lent a festive atmosphere to the
ceremony. Pale moonlight struggled through the few arrow slits uncovered by
tapestries. A fire crackled and glowed, fed by the great
Yule log that smoldered in the hearth.

Da
had ordered a young sheep, one of the lambs born the previous spring, slaughtered
so they ate it roasted with a sauce made of berries and rosemary along with
wheat boiled in broth and some haggis. Roasted rabbit and fish from the chilly ponds
rounded out the meal, with both a sweet and a savory custard ending all.

The story is about a Viking warrior who brings change to Clan Kilbirnie in the year 1260--especially to Rhona herself. It's found in the Naughty List, a boxed set put out by the Naughty Literati.

Who
are the Naughty Literati, you ask? We are a group of steamy romance

writers who
have banded together to produce excellent stories, stories so hot, so cool, so
unique, so special that they deserve special treatment. We plan to give the
world--the romance reading world, that is--four anthologies annually, more or
less.

Naughty List, our first boxed set, of course has
a winter holiday theme, but this is far from your usual vapid fare about
kissing under the mistletoe and random sex at office Christmas parties. No--we
have stories from the steamiest erotica to the most heart-warming happily ever
after. We have medievals and futuristics, ménages and committed couples rediscovering
love. You want romance? You want hot sex? We have it all.

Saturday, December 27, 2014

It's a spanky holiday party in Kinky Toes, a different take on the office holiday romance.

Designer Shelbie
Nathanson resents Rick Saldano’s ascension to C.O.O. of her family’s shoe
empire, a job she’s wanted all her life. But she finds it hard to resist when
she discovers his imagination in the bedroom is a match for her creativity in
the boardroom.

Thursday, December 25, 2014

For the last couple of years, I have run a beautiful little Christmas shortie by one of my author buddies, Catherine Cavendish. I was lucky enough to edit Cat professionally, and not only is she very agreeable to work with, she's also a very creative writer. I love her work and hope you do too.

Dance
Me To The End Of Time

by

Catherine
Cavendish

I’ve always loved Christmas. The tree, tinsel and a
roaring fire… Candles flickering and the sound of carollers striving to hit the
top register in “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.”

This
year’s no different. Of course, there’s no roaring fire anymore. That’s been
replaced with one of those living flame gas affairs. Quite nice, but you never
could beat the real thing.

“Penny
for them.” My husband, Charles, interrupts my reverie.

“Oh,
nothing. I was just musing and remembering Christmases past.” I smile at him.

He
adjusts his tie and smoothes his glossy black hair, all gestures I have seen
him perform countless times. “Do
you think it will snow this year?” he asks, studying his reflection in the
mirror.

I turn
to look out of the window. “It’s too dark to tell, but it looks damp out there.
It must have been raining earlier.”

“I
didn’t notice,” Charles says, “but then I suppose I wouldn’t, would I?” He
smiles at me and takes my hand, brushing it against his lips. Then I catch him
examining my dress.

“Something
wrong?” I ask and instinctively look down at my white, floor-length gown. I see
some creases in the silk which I attempt to smooth away.

“That’s
better. It was just a little wrinkled.”

“Hardly
surprising,” I say. “It only gets an outing once a year.”

We
laugh, and Charles strokes away a long, dark brown lock of hair which has
escaped my elaborate coiffure and has wandered across my cheek.

“Shall
we dance, Emily?” he asks.

“Certainly,
Charles, it will be my pleasure.”

We
waltz to a phantom orchestra. In my head I can hear the strains of the Blue Danube, and I am transported back
to another time and place. I can see a young girl and her young man, their eyes
locked in an embrace as they swirl around a ballroom in Vienna while a
conductor, violin in hand, steers the orchestra through his latest composition.

I close
my eyes and let him lead me round and round as the music grows louder, and now
I can smell them. Chestnuts, little fried potatoes and the warming aroma of
cinnamon from the Glühwein. I can hear the bells of St Stephen’s
Cathedral and feel the chill of the night air on my cheek. Little flecks of
snow are falling onto my face, and my feet crunch on the icy ground. Charles
is waltzing me faster and faster. And now I can hear the voices. The orchestra has faded and a choir is
singing in German: “Stille Nacht, heilige
Nacht…”

“Oh
Charles--”

“No,
Emily, don’t open your eyes.”

I
obey. “Don’t let it stop, Charles, please don’t let it stop,” I cry, “Not this
time. Not this year.”

“Dance
with me, Emily. Dance with me.”

The
choir has faded, and the orchestra builds to a crescendo. I know if I open my
eyes, I will see the wild black hair of the conductor, falling over his eyes as
his violin bow slashes through the air.

“No,
Emily, no!” Charles’ agonized face is before me. But the moment has passed.

The
orchestra is silent. There are no roasting chestnuts, no carol singers, no hot
spiced wine.

Vienna has gone.

“Oh
Emily, you did it again. Just like last year. Just like every year.”

I
am crestfallen. He takes my face in his hands. He kisses my lips, and I close
my eyes again, trying to recapture the dream. But it’s too late.

“Never
mind, my love, there’s always next year.”

“As
long as we’re still here,” I say, my old fears returning.

“I
expect we will be. They seem to like us well enough.”

From
the hallway, I hear the unmistakable sound of a key in the lock. It’s time.

“Come,
my love. We must return.” Charles once again takes my hand and together we gaze
at the empty picture above the mantelpiece.

“Until
next year and the magic returns,” he whispers.

“Until
next year. Happy Christmas, Charles.”

“Happy
Christmas, Emily.”

The
door opens and a young couple wanders in, each holding a glass of red wine. They
are both dressed smartly, she in a navy suit, he in dark grey. She has short
blond hair, and his is dark. They look very modern to me.

The
woman’s gaze is drawn to the painting. “I’ve always loved that picture.” She
sighs, raising her glass to her lips and taking a sip.

“That’s
why I bought it for you,” the man says and nuzzles her neck.

“Dance Me to the End of Time,” she
murmurs. “Such an evocative title. And it really looks as if that’s what they’re
doing, doesn’t it? You feel they could just step out of that frame and glide
around the room.”

Her
husband laughs. “You and your imagination.”

The
woman moves toward the fireplace and is peering closer. “There it is
again. The damnedest thing!”

“What?”
he asks.

“I
noticed it last year, but only on Christmas Eve, and it’s happened again this
year. Look at her eyes.”

The
man does as he is bid.

“Can
you see it? There at the corner of her eye. A tear. It looks as if it’s just
about to spill down her cheek, but I bet you it won’t be there in the morning.”

The
man laughs. “You’re imagining it. Too much wine at dinner.”

“Say
what you like. I know what I saw.” She steps back.

She’s
right, of course. It’s the tear I cannot
cry every Christmas when the magic ends.

competition 2013. Her winning novella – LindenManor – is available in all digital formats and in the print anthology, What Waits In The Shadows. She is the author of a number of paranormal horror and Gothic horror novellas and short stories. Her novel, SavingGraceDevine,has recently been published by Samhain Publishing and her new novel -The Pendle Curse - is coming out on February 3rd.

She lives with a longsuffering husband in North Wales. Her home was built in the mid-

18thcentury and is haunted by a friendly ghost, who announces her presence

by footsteps, switching lights on and strange phenomena involving the washing

machine and the TV.

When not slaving over a hot computer, Cat enjoys wandering around Neolithic stone

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Enjoy the sweet and snarky opinions of writer Katie deLong, Suzie's companion in the boxed set, What to Read After Fifty Shades of Grey v. 8:

#1. You are beautiful. Yes, you. When it comes down
to it, people just like looking at other people. Whether you look like a human
interpretation of a Barbie, or could easily cosplay as Jabba The Hut, with
confidence you can rule that stage. And if they don't see that, they
don't deserve to be watching. Spill a drink in their lap.

#2. Strike a Pose. On that note, spacial awareness
isn't just for self absorbed starlets who have “bad sides”. A tiny difference
in the way you angle your body can make the difference between pausing in a
position that leads the eye along your curves like a sensuous hourglass, and
making your movements look disjointed or dead, or emphasizing the parts of you
you are most self conscious about. Find a few good poses in the full length
mirror, and practice lots of transitions to get into them. And maintain eye
contact when you nail that pose.

#3. Accessorize! Self conscious about your waistline?
Don't get completely naked; just pick out a good underbust waist cincher, and
if it has clips for stockings, make sure you clip the stockings on before
you put your panties on. That way you can keep it on while you remove them. If
you want to keep his eyes on your chest, layer longer necklaces. Just be sure
none of them have loose jump rings or sharp-edged pendants. You know that thing
where two nerds kiss and their braces stick together? Imagine that with the
pendant on your choker, and your voyeur's pants. Awkward.

#4. Don't wear body glitter. In the club, this is
sometimes more practical; glitter is like herpes. It gets everywhere you
don't want it, and sticks to everyone in sneezing distance. Most guys don't
like being covered in glitter, and if they're sneaking out of the house, their
spouse will like it even less. But more to the point, glitter, even cosmetic
safe glitter, can be irritating to the skin. It can be damaging if it migrates
into someone's contacts, it can irritate--- ahem--- other parts of you if it
gets ground in during the fun times. On that note, never ever ever just
grab craft glitter and mix it with your lotion. Cosmetic glitters are more
expensive, but they're less likely to cause permanent damage. Cosmetic glitters
are produced to have fewer sharp edges that might cut your eyes' surface.

#5. Do wear glittery eyeshadow. There's a time and a
place for everything. And glittery eyeshadow can take an ordinary smoky eye
from date night to larger than life. A
little in the inner corner of the eye can light up your face. Or even covering
the lids completely. The trick to keeping it in place is in what you use to
stick it to your skin. Some companies produce sticky primers, like Fyrinnae's
Pixie Epoxy, that are good. To be honest, though, my favorite is plain old
Vaseline. This doesn't work for normal
eyeshadow, because Vaseline sits on the skin, and will smear it around. But
that exact lack of absorption makes it basically ideal for keeping hold of the
glitter all night long. Put it ONLY on the lid, not where your eye creases- in
the crease, it will move around more. And use as little as you can. Just enough
to make the skin tacky.

About Katie deLong's writing:

Queen of Clubs series

The exotic dancers
and employees of the Queen of Clubs walk a fine line, with only wits, beauty,
and market savvy to keep them from toppling into the shark pit. Ride shotgun
through lapdances, romance, and sexual awakenings. Don't worry, these girls
won't ask what your hands are doing under the tip rail.

About Katie deLong

Katie de Long lives
in the Pacific northwest, realizing her dream of being a crazy cat-lady. As a
kid, Katie flagged the fade-to-blacks in every adult book she encountered, and
when she began writing, she vowed to use cutaways sparingly. After all, that's
when the good stuff happens. And on a kindle, no one asks why there's so many
bookmarks in her library.

Friday, December 19, 2014

My holiday office romance is a departure from my usual “sugar”
BDSM offerings—it’s straight-out kinky, being the romance between a foot
fetishist and an upscale shoe designer. But Shelbie and Rick are a match made
in some crazy stiletto heaven.

Giveaway!

A copy of any ebook in my inventory to the cleverest commenter. Jokes and rhymes get an extra point ;)

Here’s the
blurb:

Genre: contemporary kink romance

Shelbie
Nathanson resents Rick Saldano's ascension to C.O.O. of her family's shoe
company, a job she's wanted all her life. But she can't resist his red-hot,
sexy style of lovemaking... one that focuses on her passion: shoes.

Here's a sexy snippet for ya ;)

Rick caught up with Shelbie at the top of the stairs. On the second floor, peace reigned. A cozy
sitting room was lit by a fire in the marble hearth. Framed family pictures and
a Chanukah menorah cluttered the top of a polished cherry wood piano.

He followed a quiet
Shelbie toward the piano. “Is this the family quarters?” he asked.

“Yeah, the
downstairs is mostly for show, especially in the winter. It’s warmer up here.”

He touched the
brass menorah with a reverent finger, smiling at the four lit candles. “Every
year, I wondered about all the Christmas trees. Nathanson is a Jewish name—”

“We have the trees downstairs for the staff party. And now for Ka-ro-la.”

“You don’t like
her.”

She picked up a
photo set in a wood frame decorated with seashells and fish. “No, I don’t.”

“Is this you and
your mom?”

“Uh-huh.”

He took it from
her. The picture showed the two of them when Shelbie had been about five,
playing at the beach in the waves.

He put an arm
around her. “Babe—”

“It’s just
that…seeing Karola wearing my mom’s diamonds. My dad got her those when he made
his first million.”

He considered. “That
sucks.”

“Sure does.”

He cuddled her
closer. “What can I do?”

She managed to grin
at him. “How about a kiss to make it better?”

“It’s your heart
that hurts, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” She tried
not to sniffle.

He unbuttoned her
dress halfway down to the waist, and dropped a light kiss on the upper curve of
her left breast. “Cute bra,” he said, pleasure in his voice.

“I didn’t know that
lingerie was one of your fetishes.”

“Everyone loves
black lace. You know, I truly
do hope that work won’t come in the way of…of the fun we could have together.”
He scoped her body up and down. Especially down. She heard his breath hitch as
he looked at her high heeled, strappy shoes.

She grinned at him.
“I want to show you something you’ll really love.” Taking his hand, she led him
to her suite. Andy Warhol
silk-screens covered the outer room walls, coordinating with a bright couch and
chairs in a green and heliotrope floral print. But her bedroom was a shrine to
her passion: the art of the shoe.

She led Rick
inside.

She’d painted a
mural on the wall. Heliotrope on pale green, a giant Victorian boot, complete
with pointy toe, button hooks and a kitten heel. Her bed was in the shape of a
shoe—a Shelbie Sexy Sandal, with the straps made of metal bands painted
heliotrope. They crisscrossed high above the mattress.

Rick gazed around
the room, open-mouthed. She could see a tent forming at the front of his pants.

She raised her
hands, crossed them at the wrist and grabbed one of the bed’s high metal rails,
deliberately displaying herself. “See anything you like?”

He closed his mouth
and came toward her, seizing her in a powerful embrace. His kiss was hot and
ardent, holding nothing back. One hand slid down to her ass and squeezed, while
the other reached into her upswept hair. He tangled his fingers in her hair, holding
her head at a perfect angle to deepen his kiss.

She responded,
slashing her tongue across his, asserting herself. He might be her boss in the
boardroom, but they’d be equals in the bedroom. While they kissed, he resumed
unbuttoning her dress until he could take it off. She dropped her arms to
cooperate, and he pressed her back onto her bed.

About Me

Best-selling, award-winning author Suz deMello has written nineteen books in several genres, including nonfiction, memoir, romance, erotica, comedy, historical, paranormal, mystery and suspense, plus a number of short stories and articles on writing. She has also contributed to several bestselling boxed sets. Learn more about her books at her site, suzdemello.com.